


To the Victor Go the Spoils

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cowgirl Position, F/M, Jousting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sylvgrid NSFW Weekend (Fire Emblem), kind of a confession, their first time together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Ingrid and Sylvain are pitted against each other in a jousting match.Afterward, Sylvain needs a little medical attention. It gets steamier than merely tending wounds, however... Turns out, Sylvain has always looked up to fearless jousting knight Ingrid.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	To the Victor Go the Spoils

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Sylvgrid NSFW Weekend! Day 3, prompt: "On the road, confession." Granted, I interpreted this pretty loosely, but _shrug_.

Ingrid raised her lance. She pointed it across the open strip of dirt pounded down by horse hooves. 

Her opponent did not react. Sylvain needed help getting onto his horse and even then he wobbled, pawing at his helmet while groping around for the reins.

 _Idiot,_ Ingrid grumbled. He’d probably been out drinking and carousing again, going to bed late, if at all, and likely with a friend or two to keep him warm all night. 

Meanwhile, Ingrid had trained for months, years. She’d honed her body, practiced against countless sparring partners, studied the craft of jousting since the moment she was strong enough to hold a lance. She should have been at a disadvantage due to Sylvain’s height and reach, but she suspected that wouldn’t matter. Not today. Not most days, with that moron. 

Ingrid got her horse in position. Sylvain, well, he got in position ... ish. 

There were the usual announcements as the crier rattled off Sylvain and Ingrid’s ranks and accomplishments. Ingrid sighed through it. Sylvain looked unsteady on his horse even before the crier finished his blathering and lowered his arm, giving them the signal to charge.

Ingrid kicked her horse. Better not to let this drag on too long.

She charged toward Sylvain, whose horse had started running at the signal to go. At least the beast knew what to do. As for its rider… 

Sylvain never quite got that lance into place before Ingrid lowered hers, aimed and knocked him cleanly off his horse in a clatter of armor.

#

“Ow ow ow.”

“Stop it,” Ingrid said. 

She rubbed more ointment onto the black and blue marks peppered up and down Sylvain’s bare torso. He winced, sucking in a breath, but dared not complain any further as Ingrid tended the bruises she’d inflicted on him in the jousting match.

“You could have practiced,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“You have better reach,” Ingrid said. “You should be able to win.”

Sylvain laughed, though it seemed to cause him pain. He lay on a cot in a medical tent. Distantly, Ingrid heard the crowd watching the rest of the matches roar. Hopefully, some of the bouts were less one-sided than hers had been. 

“There,” she said. “That should help. Though actually practicing would help a lot more.”

Sylvain snorted at himself. “Ing, even if I practiced as hard as you, I’d never beat you.”

There was something fond in his voice. Ingrid pressed her lips tight and scowled at it. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re a better knight than I’ll ever be. Always have been.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Stop it.”

He struggled to sit up, wincing even as he did. “I’m serious. You’re strong, hard working, brave. Shit, I’m none of those things.”

“You could be them if you bothered trying.”

“But I’m never gonna,” Sylvain said. “That’s the point.” He pointed at her sternum. “That thing in you that makes you do all those things – I don’t have it. I’m just--” He spread his arms wide as though that was any sort of explanation. 

Ingrid sighed. “What is this?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve heard all your lines before, Sylvain. Is that what you think you’re doing right now?”

His whole face flushed, eyes widening. It was such a rapid reaction Ingrid almost believed it was real. 

“No,” he said. “No, of course not.” 

“Please.”

“I-I’m serious.” 

She leaned forward, closer to his burning face. “Your little games never worked on me before. They’re not going to start working now.”

Ingrid nearly yelped when he took her by the arms. Sylvain’s face sobered. He suddenly looked more serious than she’d ever seen him. Not once since growing up together had she witnessed him go from blushing to stone-faced quite this quickly. Just what was going on here?

“Ingrid,” he said, looking her dead in the eyes, “no games. I swear.” 

She studied those eyes for a moment, tried to find the lie in them, scanned for danger. Ingrid had been scanning for danger for most of her life. Not just from Sylvain, from everyone around her. Folks didn’t take so readily to a woman beating them on the jousting field, or anywhere else, really. 

Yet what she found in Sylvain’s eyes wasn’t the machismo she was used to combating. For at least this moment, he was as disarmed as he’d been when she knocked him off his horse. 

She was kissing him before she realized it. 

Ingrid drew back, gasping at her own impetuousness. The flush was back in Sylvain’s cheeks, but now Ingrid was sure she was matching him, her own face bright. 

“What was that?” he said, his voice barely a breath. 

Something seized Ingrid then. Sylvain was still holding her by the arms, stunned into immobility. She could push him off with a flick. 

“I won,” she said. 

His eyebrow lifted.

“I’m taking my prize.”

With that, she pushed him back. He fell away, limp with surprise, and Ingrid climbed over him on the cot, sitting on his thighs. Sylvain’s mouth fell open as Ingrid pulled her sweaty tunic off over her head, leaving just the cloth she wrapped around her chest. 

Sylvain’s hands wandered up her thighs, settling on her hips. 

“Ing...” 

She placed a finger against his lips and leaned down.

“Don’t talk or I might change my mind.” 

She could see his throat bob as he swallowed, but he nodded from behind that finger. Ingrid smiled as she removed it and bent the rest of the way to his mouth. 

He murmured against her lips, massaging her mouth with his own. Ingrid tried not to think too hard about why this was happening, how it was happening. She just kept going, charging forward like she was sprinting toward him on the jousting pitch. She led with her tongue, prodding into his mouth, licking along his tongue, tasting the heat simmering inside him. 

Sylvain’s hands tightened on her hips, trying to pull her forward. She gave just a little, rolling her hips just a touch. Even that small movement had him quivering under her. 

_Goddess, isn’t he the experienced one here?_

It wasn’t like Ingrid didn’t know what she was doing, but this was _Sylvain_. How was he moaning and shivering from just this? 

Some part of her dared to believe it was because he’d wanted her so badly for so long, but she pushed that aside. Too much to hope for. Too much to dream. This was, she reminded herself yet again, Sylvain.

She pushed away. He winced a little when she pressed against his chest to get herself upright, but Ingrid didn’t care. He’d earned those bruises himself; he could live with them. 

Then she rolled her hips in earnest, grinding over him, feeling him getting hard right under her. His mouth hung open, little panting huffs escaping every time she dragged her hips over his pelvis. His fingers dug in, almost too tight now, but she didn’t bother stopping him. 

Ingrid got her hand between them, pressing against his cock. It also gave her a little more friction to rub against.

His eyes fluttered shut the moment she touched him, even through his pants. Sylvain tilted his head back as much as he could. 

“Ing,” he moaned. “ _Fuck._ ”

Hearing her name tremble out of his mouth made sparks shoot up Ingrid’s spine. Warmth pooled in her belly, in her gut, lower. She needed more, more than just grinding through clothes, more than her own hand. Goddess damn her, but she needed _him._

She shifted back to start undoing the laces on his pants. Ingrid didn’t even bother sliding them off, just scooted them down enough that his cock could spring free. She took him in hand, exploring his length, feeling how hard and thick he was just from what they’d done already. Her pussy ached at the thought of having him inside her, but she had to get rid of her own garments first.

Ingrid jumped off the cot to do just that, tossing her pants aside, getting rid of the band around her chest, standing naked before him without much ceremony. 

_Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t stop, don’t think..._

If she did that for even one second she might remember she was about to fuck her obnoxious and philandering childhood friend. She absolutely could _not_ spare any thought for that. Not even a single second.

She hurried back to him, straddling him again. Ingrid braced on one arm, using her free hand to angle his cock at her entrance. She was already hot and wet. It might take a little doing to get him inside, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to wait. _Don’t think!_

Sylvain grabbed her arm, forcing her to pause. She looked up, away from his body and at his face. He was still rosy in the cheeks, still breathing in hot puffs, but his eyes bore into hers.

“Ing, are you sure about this?” he said. 

Why in all the gods’ names was he getting that soft, pathetic look right now of all times? Why was he stopping her? It almost made Ingrid think he actually cared.

She shook that thought aside. It was far too dangerous to consider the concern in his eyes might be legitimate. 

Ingrid shrugged her arm free of his hold and shoved him back down onto the cot. “Shut up,” she said.

At the command, his worry instantly shifted to interest. He liked being told what to do, huh? She stored that away for later.

 _No! Not later._ There couldn’t be a later. A later implied … implied far too much. 

She scratched her nails lightly down his chest, right over those bruises. She applied just a little pressure, but he hissed in a breath all the same. 

“I am always sure,” Ingrid said. 

He swallowed, throat bobbing, but put up no further protest as Ingrid went back to stroking his cock, angling it at herself, letting the head press against her entrance. It was meant to tease him, but Ingrid found herself gnawing at her lip, just as enticed by the prospect as she’d meant to make him. 

Finally, she lowered down, taking him in inch by inch. 

Sylvain sighed, a long, slow breath. His eyes squeezed shut, head rolling back. His throat looked so long and exposed as he arched into the sensation. 

Ingrid watched the whole way, even as she filled herself with him, his cock hot inside her. She paused when she had him all the way in, just appreciating that feeling of fullness, the sizzling of her nerves, the way her pussy tried to clench around him and somehow get him even closer. 

Then she started to rock, just a little at first, dragging her hips over him like she had when they were still clothed. Even that had both of them gasping. Their breaths filled the little tent; the air seemed to heat around them. 

Ingrid braced against his chest. If it still hurt, Sylvain didn’t show it as Ingrid pressed against the hard planes of his pecs to give herself more leverage. 

His hands wandered to her hips, her ass, helping her move more forcefully up and down his shaft as it got slick with her wetness and allowed her to glide more easily. The grind of him inside her made her feel fuller with every thrust. It wasn’t just his cock. It was the heat building as she rode it, heat like a physical wall of water trying to press into every aching place inside her, every place desperate for touch and friction. 

Ingrid hitched forward. Her hair spilled over her shoulders. She was collapsing down, so close she could feel his breath crash against her skin.

He must have gotten a foot planted on the cot somewhere because all of a sudden he surged up into her. Ingrid let out a yelp and his eyes flew open.

She shook her head before he could speak. “More of that,” she gasped. 

He looked only too happy to comply. 

Sylvain helped her now, both of them jerking their bodies so they could slam together with loud slaps of their bare skin. 

He didn’t close his eyes, looking right up at Ingrid as they pounded into each other. It should have been terrifying, but in that moment, Ingrid didn’t care, met his challenge head on, stared right back down at him as their faces distorted with pleasure. 

Sylvain reached a hand up, stroking her cheek. It was a strangely soft and gentle gesture considering the way his cock was slamming her pussy at the very same time. 

Perhaps that’s why it made Ingrid tremble. 

She groaned at the feel of his fingers dancing along her skin, light and wondering, delicate almost. It somehow sparked that last bit of heat and pressure, made her feel like thing building inside her was about to break. 

Ingrid jerked upright. She grabbed his hand, pressing it onto her breast. Ingrid squeezed, forcing him to squeeze as well. Then she clamped her thighs, her cunt, her whole body around him and let out a long, shivering cry as the pressure released.

He came an instant later, shuddering within her, his whole body trembling. Her name shivered on his lips, a moan and a prayer and a promise. 

Then he went limp under her. Ingrid lay atop him, not even bothering to get his cock out of her, though she could feel the mess already leaking out of her pussy. It didn’t matter. Not yet. For this tenuous, breathless moment, she could just lay atop him, breathing hard, her heart slamming against her chest like it was trying to leap out and meet his. 

Sylvain rubbed a hand down her back, trailing his fingers up and down. It sent goosebumps rippling out from everywhere he touched. Ingrid closed her eyes, sighing in contentment. 

“Ingrid.”

She groaned, annoyance rather than pleasure this time. 

“I was just gonna say that we probably need to get up. At least for a second.” 

“Oh, shit.” She hurried up, realizing he was right. The mess was going to get on the cot soon.

Ingrid cleaned herself up, even put her pants and shirt back on. When she turned around, Sylvain was watching her. He had pants on again, but his bruised chest was still exposed. He now had some scratch marks, as well. Goddess, had she done that? 

He looked … oddly sad.

“Are you going?” he said.

Shit. Definitely sad. 

Ingrid held still, momentarily stunned. She had certainly intended to leave, to move on with her day, maybe get something to eat. But something in how he was looking at her now made her want to change her plans. 

She sat beside him on the cot, slow and careful, the caution returning to tense in her shoulders. 

“I could stay,” she said. “For a little bit.”

A smile crept across his face.

“Not very long,” she hurried on. “Just a little.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but he was smiling as he wrapped her in his arms and they collapsed back onto the cot holding each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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